Pixie Dust
by Jack's-Mannequin
Summary: - "You remind me of an imaginary friend I used to have, only older." I said, standing infront of the steps and him. He smiled, shaking his head. "I'm not imaginary though." Was his response. I grinned. "What a perfect answer." -- Jacob/OC


_Part One:_ **Allan  
**_Chapter One: _**A Box Full of Overdramatics**

_"Like a river flows surely to the sea,  
Darling so it goes, some things are meant to be  
Take my hand, take my whole life too,  
For I can't help falling in love with you."_

* * *

My brother Ian ran away the morning of my sixteenth birthday. He left a gift, nicely wrapped in blue, sitting in front of my bed. The weird thing was, he'd been in my room and out while making no noise. He'd left the house the same way; calculating and planning to a perfect degree. I hadn't really noticed the present and note at my bed until I'd gone downstairs and into the kitchen. My father had been making frantic phone calls to neighbors and friends, finally settling on the police.

_"Please._He's only seventeen." He'd sighed, and shivered; the police were taking too long. After he'd hung up, turning to look at me with glassy eyes and a diminished presence, he'd explained the situation. I couldn't understand why he'd done it on my birthday. There were so many days in the year, all he had to do was avoid this one.

And then I realized how selfish that sounded. I ran to my bedroom, remembering the tiny blue thing at my bed that I'd promptly pushed to the back of my mind the moment I'd awoken. Inside the blue wrapped box was a CD. At first, I only stared at it. _This was his gift for leaving Us?_ The reflection side was facing up, inside the clear case, and as I flipped it and held the CD closer to my face, I'd realized with a lump in my throat that there were words on the top.

"_Listen to this, and I'll be there."_

But I couldn't force the hands holding the CD to place it inside the radio. So I swallowed the lump in my throat, stood up, and placed the CD in the back of my closet, inside a shoebox.

_You left me. _

My brother and I were close. When my parents divorced, my mother was the one who chose to leave. It hadn't been mandatory for a parent to leave the state, but given my mothers personality and sense, she chose to run. I remember my father telling me--in a fit of weakness--that he'd still loved her. That despite her act of abandonment, he couldn't stop caring.

The strong father had diminished, and slowly after that my brother filled the spot of caretaker. In a sense, my brother and I had become a team, intent on taking care of our father. I had cleaned and cooked, while my brother took care of the handiwork. I was thirteen, my brother only a year older. It wasn't hard, considering our home was on a small Indian Reservation in Arizona. The stores were all walking distance away.

Sometimes I think my mother ran because she felt victimized. And, despite the fact that no one cared she hadn't a single drop of Native American blood in her body, she'd still felt everyone was secretly plotting her murder. She was weak, pathetic, and in all sense, a personality I avoided for myself with all persistence.

My brother never thought unkindly about my mother. For me, it was tough to even _consider_ a nice way about her. She'd abandoned us, abandoned my father. And now, my brother had done the same. Even though he'd copied her in every sense, albeit he was actually Native American, I loved him. But now, our team was gone. I was the only one left to keep our family together, if only for the two of us.

But now, a week later, my job was failing as my father sat at the kitchen table. He was staring at the fruit bowl in front of him, and he hadn't blinked once in the past minute. It scared me, and it was a repeat of something I hated to remember. This time the wound cut deeper; his son had left him too.

I went to my father, wrapping my arms around his frail form. I wanted to be strong for him, and I wouldn't cry. He'd broken, his body slumping forward and his head falling into his hands. He was crying, and I couldn't stand it. Breaking my promise, I chose to let go of him and grab some money, leaving as quickly as possible.

The moment I stepped out of the house and onto the streets, there were comments and sympathetic glances everywhere. They thought he wouldn't come back. I wanted to scream at them; _it's only been a week. _And the worst was when I walked past our tiny park, the swings occupied by two familiar faces. One, a worrying mother, and the other a girl with a broken heart. I wanted to reach out to my brother's girlfriend, but I couldn't. He was coming back. _He didn't leave me alone. He never left for good._

I bought groceries at the store, ignoring the stupid glances and the obvious whispering. The only _something _that gave me comfort were the blank stares of the birds outside. And as animals, I felt unhappy that they couldn't sympathize with me, since I figured they were the only type of thing to go through what I had. I walked home, in the rain, and uncomfortably alone. As I walked into the house, the feeling of abandonment only worsened; the curtains were drawn shut, and the darkness was suffocating. "Dad, I'm back." I muttered, walking into the living room where I guessed he was. I was correct, but there was someone else sitting on the couch beside him. They both shook hands, and when I looked into my dad's eyes, I knew he'd agreed to a huge disappointment.

"What's going on?" I asked, standing infront of him. I wouldn't sit.

He rubbed his hands over his face, his eyes resting on something far behind me. Before he spoke, I saw the papers. And then, he confirmed it.

_Don't do this to me._

"We're moving. Tomorrow."

_He did._

* * *

My dad seemed to like the stupid Indian Reservations that came all around the world. And he just so happened to pick the weirdest one right inside Forks, Washington. We got out of the airport, and immediately, I hated the rain. I hated it because it only reminded me of _Him._ Apparently, we had some relatives here, namely the uncle I never knew about. So now, there was a car pulling up beside us, a tiny man in the front seat with a scraggly beard and a crooked smile. It was hard to hate this man.

He stepped out of the car and came over to my dad, giving him a hug, turning over to give me one as well. It was a bit awkward though, and it felt like I was hugging a stranger. Why didn't my dad ever tell me about this guy? My uncle--Jim--as he mentioned, threw our bags into the trunks, claiming that he'd been to our house and that the movers where already there. I watched my uncle in the car, and I also listened to his crazy stories. He had dark skin, his hair black and in a small ponytail--typical Native American look. Sometimes, I almost imagine stupid feathers and moccasins on these people. The stereotypical thoughts never ceased to contaminate my mind, and I always felt guilty in the way I though of my people.

Uncle Jim filled the horrible silence of the car with some of his own stories. He told us, or me--specifically--about the connection this particular tribe had to the wolves, and how their connection was feirce and unbreakable. He told me about the ancient tales of the Quileute tribe--and his stories were amazing, but I wanted to weep for my uncle. He told my dad, after some small questioning from him, that no--he still wasn't married, and no--he didn't have kids. When he said those things, he got this horribly wistful and sad look on his face. And I knew that he knew he wouldn't get a life like that. Immediately, I wanted to know more about my uncle. He was almost too kind. My dad still hadn't really directly spoken to me much, and I could see some questions forming in Uncle Jim's brain. Questions that were quickly diminished by the stupid glare my father gave him. It was good, though, because I despised the _idea_ of talking to my dad.

My uncle parked right behind a large moving truck, and next to a small brown house. There was a cute garden in front, and a cheesy white fence surrounding the thing. I grinned, stepping out of the car.

At least the house wasn't falling apart.

Inside, there was no staircase, and it seemed that it was just a long, one story home. I walked down a straight hallway, making my way into what seemed like a normal bedroom. I saved the master bedroom for my dad. Not that he deserved it, or anything. I threw my bag onto the already there bed, and opened up all the windows. It was still drizzling, and I hated that. But there were all kinds of birds outside, and so I left the window's open to listen. I knelt down on the floor, eventually lying down in an odd position on my back. The room was quickly cooling down, but that was okay with me.

"Allan?"

I heard a tiny knock on my door, and turned to see my grinning Uncle. I probably looked extremely idiotic, lying on the ground like crucified Jesus. He stayed by the door, though, and leaned lazily against it. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow; _lucky you, old man. You got my attention for more than three seconds._

"Your dad said no, but I figured I'd ask." He began. A plane flew by overhead. I nodded for him to continue. "Did you want to go to dinner with me to meet some of the people on the Reservation?" He asked, a tiny smile still on his face. I thought about saying no, but then I realized a whole night with my dad was unbearable. So I agreed. He left the room, mumbling something about an itch on his leg, so I threw on what I could find. Some dark jeans and a normal sweatshirt. I didn't bother with my hair. It stayed wavy and never did what I asked.

I walked into the living room where my uncle was resting on the couch with my dad. They had the small television on and were watching basketball. Was it the playoffs? Possibly? Uncle Jim heard me, and slowly got up from the couch to grab his coat. "You got a coat, kid? It's real cold out there." He grumbled--but in a nice way, I think. I sighed and trudged back to my room to grab my over sized and idiotic looking jacket, along with a scarf. We got inside his tiny car again, and he pulled out to take a left on some little road, the sides of it covered with green trees.

"You nervous, Kid?" He asked, adjusting the car tempurature to high heat. _Must he call me kid? Seriously? _I shrugged non-committingly, and he smiled in a knowledgeable way. You know, the kind of look a parent gives a teenager who's got a crush on someone; only, that situation for me was completely off target. I was going to dinner with my uncle and some random people, big deal.

_Big deal._

* * *

The diner was small, and inside Forks. There was a sign outside the window next to the booth I was in, that read the speed limit. I stared at that sign like I desperately need some information from it. The idea was to pretend I was interested in something, as to make me seem like I wasn't out of place, when secretly I was begging mercy from God and praying this dinner would end soon. Normally, I wouldn't over exaggerate on circumstances like this, but I was beginning to feel claustrophobic.

As a small person, whom almost reached the five foot line, I felt it my duty to state that I was in fact, not weak or pathetic. So in that case, I prove these thesis's to people by my sarcasm and _brains. _But sadly, I was tongue tied. Maybe I said something once, _maybe. _If I did say something, it was a something I didn't remember at all. I had a weird feeling I must've spoken Pig Latin. I sat at the table, staring either at the sign in utter desperation, or staring at my uncle in a menacing way.

People in this Reservation were tall. And no, I'm not exaggerating.

I think I might've declined this invitation, If I'd known it would only be men. And only _ridiculously tall _men. I was stuck by the window, a tall brunette boy to my left, and three to the left of him. It seemed to me they were all brothers. At first, I mean. But my uncle introduced me and them, and they had claimed to have different last names. I beg to differ, though, since their individuality was sorely lacking. It was like they were a gang, and their leader was the one _really_ tall guy across from me, with lighter hair than all of them. His name was Sam. Sam was scary.

Still, they were kind enough, and the one beside me reminded me of his name: Embry, I think it was. Embry was really nice. He made sure that I could open the stupid ketchup bottle, and he always laughed at what people said. But in a nice way. My uncle asked about some guy named Jacob; the name in which caused all the males in the vicinity--save for my uncle-- to slightly cringe with some kind of emotion.

I asked Embry about this mysterious Jacob, and all I got was a weird frown and a short explanation. "Our friend. He left for a bit." Embry's eyes darkened. Not in hate, I assumed. He said they were friends and all, and I didn't take Embry for a liar. The dinner ended in a small hour and ten minutes. I know, because I checked every minute on my watch until the last goodbye from Sam. I realized the only guy I spoke to was Embry, and I kind of felt stupid. I mean, they were all nice, so why was I acting like a mouse?

"So what'd you think of them, Kid? They all grow taller each new day I see them." He mumbled, setting the car in reverse and pulling out of the parking lot. I nodded in agreement. "They must drink a lot of milk, or something." I grumbled, because it _was _really weird that they were all over 6'5. That Sam was a giant. My uncle laughed, a burst of happiness encasing his facial features. When he laughed, it made his eyes twinkle, and his smile lines stand out. I decided that I would try to make him laugh more.

* * *

It was after brushing my teeth that I decided to question my uncle about Jacob. I found Jim in the living room--where he always was--reading a newspaper and sipping something close to tea. I jumped onto the couch, already feeling comfortable near Uncle Jim. He wasn't scary and un-trusting, so there was no reason to be weird around him. Sitting up, I opened my mouth for a question.

"Uncle Jim? Who's Jacob?" I asked, hoping he would tell me something different than what Embry said.

He smiled softly, set the newspaper down, and then took a sip of his tea. "Jacob Black is our next door neighbor, Allan." He said, smirking all the while. _Black. His last name is Black?_ I nodded, ignoring his smirk. So he was my neighbor. Huh. Jim took another sip. "His father's my good friend Billy. Jacob has two sisters, and his mother is deceased. His sisters are both gone though; they're a bit older. Jacob is. . . sixteen, I think. He might be seventeen. He's as tall as all the other boys in this reservation. Almost as tall as Sam, I think. I haven't seen him in a while. Probably in over a month." He took a breath, taking another sip.

Okay, more information than I was expecting.

I smiled, standing up. "Thanks Jimmy. I was pretty darn curious," I said, pulling on my hair. He smiled, in that knowledgeable way again. It was infuriating, to say the least. I walked back into my bedroom, not really ready for bed time. I picked up a book, opening it to the folded page I'd marked when I was on the plane ride here. I didn't realize I'd left my door open.

Jim passed by in the hallway saying funny things like, "Curiosity killed the cat."

_Oh._

* * *

**A/N: First chapter. I would really like reviews! The more I get, the quicker I update. Seriously! This is a Jacob Black fanfiction, by the way. Uhm, I don't exactly know what to say, only that this story will go on!! And I'll have character pictures up soon, along with descriptions and stuff. Since some people like that, I think. :)**


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